


Meandering to Market

by SandyWormbook



Category: James Bond - All Media Types, Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15519567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyWormbook/pseuds/SandyWormbook
Summary: Q shows Bond the London he doesn't know.





	1. Two office visits

Bond stepped into Q-branch and scanned the large open work area but there was no sign of the Quartermaster. Momentarily, one of the Q-branchers piped up and said, “he’s in his office”, thumbing towards the back. Bond had been back from his last mission for a few days, so he was well rested, sharply dressed and curious as to why Q asked him to stop by.

Q was often found working in the open or hunched over a bench in a lab, but he also spent a few hours a day in his office. Bond used it occasionally when he was at MI-6 as it had a comfy couch perfect for resting and napping while he recovered from injuries. He didn’t admit it to himself, but watching Q work quieted his mind, the rhythmic tapping on the keyboards relaxed him like a lullaby, and Bond could sleep soundly with none of the nightmares he so often had. Q’s office felt like home, far more than his mostly empty apartment and he trusted Q to watch over him in the bowels of MI-6 as much as he trusted Q’s help in the field.

When Bond arrived at the office, he was a bit surprised to find the door closed. Q answered his knock with, “just a minute” and after a short time, “come in”. As Bond entered, he saw a flicker of movement in the corner and started to react, but Q said, “don’t worry, it’s just a rat.” Rats were a fairly common sight in the “new” MI-6 offices in the tunnels of Churchill’s bunker. Bond recalled Tanner’s words as he had led Bond into emergency location for the first time — “Quite fascinating, if it wasn’t for the rats.”

Bond said, “you need to be more careful about storing your snacks”, but Q only huffed in answer.

Q was known for copious consumption of tea, his sweet tooth, his love of all things chocolate, and a tendency to skip real meals when wrapped up in a project. He did keep some snacks in his office where a small cabinet held chocolate, biscuits, crackers, peanut butter, dried fruit, and an emergency supply of his favourite tea. After raiding the cabinet a few times, Bond decided that Q had excellent taste — except for the peanut butter. He supposed Q must have picked up a taste for it in during his student days in the States, but Bond had never seen him eat it. Vile stuff.

Q bent over and picked up a small plate and dish from the floor and set them on the edge of his desk. The dish was half of water and the plate had a respectable collection of crumbs and peanut butter smears. Oddly, they joined Q’s customary tea mug and another plate holding a couple of his usual chocolate biscuits, one half eaten.

Turning to Bond, he said, “Thanks for coming down. I have a rather personal favour to ask. I need a companion… an escort…” Bond chuckled lightly at this, delighting when Q realised his ambiguous word choice. Q smirked but recovered quickly with “err…a bodyguard tomorrow evening. I plan to visit what might be considered a rough part of town and it would be best to have a deterrent along to avoid trouble. This isn’t for MI-6 though, so do feel free to decline. But if you’re up for it, I do promise an interesting evening and some unique cuisine.”

Bond wondered just where is his posh public-school Quartermaster off to that he wants Bond along? A new club? He hoped that he wouldn’t be dragging a drunk, protesting Q out of a mosh pit in the wee hours. But wait, where did he get that idea? The rare times Q played music in his office, and only after hours, it tended to be classical, often just solo violin in what sounded like amateur recordings.

Bond dragged himself back to the present and said, “I wouldn’t miss it. How could I pass up the promise of an interesting evening with you? I hope you won’t mind if people think you’re my _escort_ , you certainly have the looks for it,” with a teasing emphasis and a long, shameless, dragging look up Q’s body.

Q could feel himself blushing and turned slightly to hide it. Clearing his throat, he said, “Meet me at the downstairs lab tomorrow at 7pm, we’ll be walking from there” and then more cuttingly, “dress for the streets and no, I don’t mean strolling along Savile Row.”


	2. Exit Below

When Bond pushes open the door to the lab, he is slightly taken aback when Q turns to face him. The glasses are gone and his hair is crazy, deliberately so, perhaps from a bit of product. Q has swapped out his usual office wear of trousers, shirt and trendy cardigan for an outfit that looks only slightly better than what the local homeless population would wear. Hiking boots, khaki cargo pants, a mucky brown t-shirt and a battered, waxed cotton olive jacket that looked as it had been dragged behind a car a few times — urban not-chic indeed. 

It seems that Bond had chosen well when he dressed for the evening in a dark turtleneck, black leather jacket, jeans and his well-worn combat boots. 

Bond is curious as to what the evening holds as he steps up to join Q at the lab table and notices his usual Walther, shoulder holster, two sets of earwigs and their tiny transmitter boxes, a large sheathed knife and a necklace. 

Q says, “take off your jacket” and holds up the shoulder hostler for Bond as if he’s helping him into an elegant coat. Bond wriggles into the holster, feeling a little puzzled at the solicitude. Q tucks the gun in the holster and asks, “Please keep this out of sight and use it only if strictly necessary”.

Stepping back to the table, Q grabs the knife and hands it to Bond. “This, you should keep in sight. It’s best to look both dangerous and prepared. Besides… you might need it for dinner.” 

Q picks up the necklace, and again stepping into Bond’s personal space, loops the chain over his head. Bond is about to crack a joke, but Q says seriously, “don’t take this off, don’t lose it and do not allow anyone to see it. It’s valuable, not worth your life, but it would be better to destroy it than have it fall into the wrong hands.” Bond nods. Looking down, he sees the long, grey tarnished chain holds a miniature key, like that for a child’s diary. It certainly doesn’t look valuable. Bond then notices a similar chain just visible inside the neckline of Q’s shirt. Has Q always worn it? Bond’s never noticed it before, but then he’s only seen Q in a high-necked sweater or shirt and tie before.

Finally, Q holds out his hand palm up with an earwig and its transmitter box. Bond scoops them up, feeling the faintest touch of Q’s fingertips curling up into his hand. He turns on the transmitter, tucks it into his jacket and slides the earwig into his ear.

Like Bond, Q puts an earwig in and tucks away a transmitter. Then he swings a small backpack over his shoulder and picks up a heavy flashlight, the kind that can double as truncheon. He tosses a small flashlight at Bond, who puts it in his jacket pocket.

“Shall we get started?”, Q asks.

They’re walking in some of the dustier tunnels attached to MI-5’s new hideout. At first, there’s the usual lines of supply cabinets and shelving, holding part bins, unidentifiable bits and half-finished Q branch experiments but later, it’s just the drab walls of the tunnel. Soon they reach a thick sturdy door. Bond notices the camera, the wiring for electronic alarms and even a keypad/speaker combo unit. Q walks up, punches in a short code and the speaker croaks to life with a curt, “Authorisation code?”

Q answers, “Scheduled exit by Q of Q branch and James Bond, 007. Authorisation code: november three golf alpha. I’ll be out for a few hours, George.”

With that hint, Bond now recognises the voice of George from the main security desk, who answers with “Very well, sir. Keep him safe, Bond.”

There’s a solid clunk from an electromagnetic lock. Q reaches forward and opens the door, holding it for Bond. Once both are on the other side and the door is again closed, there’s another clunk.

They’ve exited into an disused subway station — one that looks as if hasn’t been used since World War II judging by the posters and various items lying about. All the exits to the surface are bricked up.

Q says, “We’re going to London Below. I don’t mean that we are below London, even though we are right now, but rather we’re in a place that exists side-by-side with our London, that touches or overlays some of our London but also has its own existence, mostly underground. Think of the sewers, the abandoned subway stations and lines, the dark and dingy places where people get lost and are never heard of again. Some people, who were forgotten above, fall through to London Below, but most here have lived their whole lives as part of London Below.”

Q stops near the end of the platform, looks carefully at a section of the old subway wall and takes some chalk out of his pocket. He draws a line just a bit above head height and then draws two vertical lines down the wall to the floor. Bond wonders, “what’s he doing?” as Q draws a small circle midway up one side of the rectangle. Q takes out his necklace key and touches it to the small circle and turns it as if it’s in a lock. A rectangle of wall swings out slightly. Q grips the side and swings it open further. It is a door, but a door that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Q looks at Bond and says, “Well, Alice, come along.”

On the other side of the door, there’s more tunnel, more brickwork, but this is Victorian era construction. 

Q continues, “There’s a couple things of I need to tell you for tonight. The first and most important is about rats. Please try treat any rats you meet with respect, don’t attack them and for heaven’s sake, kill any. I know this sounds strange, but they’re our allies and I count some as friends.”

Bond looks at Q strangely, but decides to be agreeable and says “okay, I don’t quite understand, but respect the rats, got it.”

Q continues, “People and things might not be quite what they seem, but trust your instincts, I know they’re good. We’re going to the Market tonight. There’s a truce in the Market and the one place in London Below where everyone’s paths cross. We’ll need to cut through a section of sewer to get to the Market, but it’s only a small strip. I’m not keen on the smell, but it’s the quickest route.”


End file.
